


When the Cold Comes Creeping In

by rubygirl29



Category: Dresden Files book-verse
Genre: First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-29
Updated: 2010-06-29
Packaged: 2017-10-22 03:56:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/233491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubygirl29/pseuds/rubygirl29
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Follow up to <a href="http://rubygirl29.livejournal.com/107547.html#cutid1">Cigarettes and Chocolate Milk.</a> Following his abduction and heroin withdrawal, Marcone disappears from Harry’s life until one cold night ...</p>
            </blockquote>





	When the Cold Comes Creeping In

A week after Marcone emerged from the fog of his forced drug addiction, he vanished from my life, leaving only a note, written on thick, cream-colored paper, thanking me for saving him. And then, _Good-bye, Harry_ and signed with his slash of a signature. He had included a check -- just enough so that I wouldn’t consider it an obligation, but a reimbursement.

Bastard.

Time went by and with it the usual round of lost keys, demons and ghosts. Nothing major. Just enough to keep me in funds and to allow me to relax a bit now and then. There was nothing in the papers about the return of a mysteriously missing Chicago mobster, or mob turf wars, so I assumed Marcone had smoothly stepped in and resumed his business. Not that I cared.

October passed and November roared in, bringing with it the relentless chill of a Chicago winter. Things started waking up; and I began to feel like I was caught in a permanent state of spiritual and physical cold. I was being pursued by demons who seemed to crawl from the Nevernever just to torment me.

I dispelled one that surprised me in a dark, slush-covered alley. It had been a nasty fight. My leather duster was wet and heavy, my feet were freezing and my throat was sore. Just to add insult to injury, the Blue Beetle had died. I called for a tow to Mike’s, and wouldn’t you know it, this was the one day of the year he had no loaners available, so I walked home as the sleet and ice turned to snow.

Home was only slightly more welcoming thanks to Mister and Mouse. I lit a fire in the kerosene stove and hunched close to the warmth. It wasn’t’ enough. A chill worked its way in a leisurely shiver down my spine. I reached for the blanket on the sofa. Ridiculously, it still smelled like John’s expensive shampoo. He was probably warm and dry in one of his cozy bolt-holes.

Bastard.

I uncoiled myself stiffly and went into the kitchen, opened a can of soup and carried it over to the kerosene stove. Low tech is my middle name. The soup was nearly warm when Mouse gave a low, warning growl. His hair remained smooth, and Mister just looked bored. Human at the door.

I disarmed the wards, then opened the door. John Marcone stood there, hands shoved into the pockets of a cashmere greatcoat. He looked warm. I was jealous. And annoyed.

“Looks like the bad penny turned up,” I said. “What do you want?”

“May I come in?”

I peered around him. “Where is Cujo?”

His mouth quirked. “Mr. Hendricks is in the car.” He looked past my shoulder as if checking to see if I were entertaining guests. “So, do I get an invitation to cross the threshold?”

“You don’t have to ask. You’re not a wizard.”

“Ah, but I am polite.”

I stepped aside. “Come in.”

He did, looked around and frowned. “Jesus, Harry. It’s freezing in here.”

“Don’t call me Harry.” It sounded petulant, childish.

Marcone looked at me. “Harry, you’ve washed up my shit. I think we’ve gone past the formalities.”

“Since you put it so eloquently ... fine. Suit yourself.” I sneezed and coughed. _Damn_!

John pulled a pair of gloves out of his pocket. “Come on, Harry. Get your coat.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s too cold in here, you’re eating salt water, and I owe you a good meal.” He smiled. “How can you refuse?”

“ _John_ , it’s not that I don’t appreciate the offer, but I just got in after being chased by a demon, thrown in the slush, and had my car break down. I’m tired and I’m catching a cold. Go away.”

“Stop it,” he said. “Just stop thinking about how much you hate me. Tell me that you don’t want warm, real food in your stomach.”

“I don’t hate you,” I said. I didn’t hate him. I hated what he did, but he probably hated what I did in return. My stomach growled at the thought of a meal that didn’t come out of a can or a takeout window.

“Good.” His voice was as soft as a purr. “Have dinner with me.”

I was starting to feel like I was being seduced. “You know, I’m not the kind to put out on a first date.”

A small flame flared in those tiger eyes of his before it was replaced by laughter. “Virginity is highly over-rated.” He picked up my duster. “Come on, sweet pea.”

“Sure thing, honey-bunch,” I grumbled, but my heart wasn’t in it; not when my stomach was definitely with the program. I took the duster from him and shrugged into its slightly damp lining.

Of course, his car was waiting with Hendricks behind the wheel. Inside, the seats were heated leather and the vents were blowing a gentle breeze. I tried not to moan with delight as my body sank down and was enveloped in warmth. “You know, I could break this,” I said.

“No, wizard. You won’t.” Marcone was watching me, amused. “Relax, Harry.”

Kind of hard to do when driving around with a Mafia don and his henchman, but somehow, I managed to let some of the tension seep out of my muscles and bones. Stars and stones, it felt good to be warm.

“Where are we going?” I finally asked, when my brain regained coherence.

“Best restaurant in town.”

“I’m hardly dressed for the Palmer House.”

“I had something a little more casual in mind.” He settled back against the seats, one arm across the back.

I maneuvered my spine into the corner formed by the seat and the door and eyed him speculatively. “So, how was your day? Make any millions, cause any untold misery?” I was being cruel and he winced slightly.

“Harry ...”

“At least you didn’t have a demon throw you into the slush and then proceed to stamp on your back just be be sure you were well and truly soaked, bruised and frozen.”

“No.” He fell silent for a moment. “Are you all right?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” I was tired of being a bastard. I looked out the window. “Where are we going?”

“My place.”

I swallowed. “Your ... place? Like where you live?”

“As odd as it seems, I do have a home,” he sighed. “Several,” he said, and looked almost ashamed of that.

“Of course.” Even I had my laboratory in the sub-basement, so who was I to criticize? I sat back and watched the lights flow past like water. The snow was melting on the windows and Marcone’s face was pale in the artificial street lights, half-hidden by bands of shadow. He had regained most of the weight he had lost during his captivity, but the hollows of his face were still pronounced. His hair, while well-cut, was longer than he had worn it previously. He didn’t look quite so dangerous with that softening influence. But, a sleeping tiger is still a tiger, full of lambent strength and power.

We pulled into a parking garage guarded by a man who looked like a less well-groomed Hendricks with a bend to his nose and the cauliflower ears of a boxer. “Let me guess, you own this building.”

He shrugged diffidently. “It’s an investment.”

“Right.” John Marcone, man of substance, property owner, responsible citizen. It was quite a cover-up. Tonight the illusion came with heated leather seats and fine dining. Who was I to complain? I was hardly what I appeared to the world, either.

We took the elevator up to the penthouse level ... the _first_ penthouse level, where Hendricks left us. A few seconds later, the doors slid open on to a space that took my breath away. John stepped out first, turned to me and said, “Mr. Dresden, won’t you please come in?”

It was unnecessary. His bachelor apartment had one thing in common with mine: neither was imbued with the power of being a real home; not like Murphy’s or Michael and Charity’s. I wouldn’t have lost much magic stepping across Marcone’s threshold, but the fact that he had _asked_ was fairly breathtaking in the trust it revealed. I wouldn’t be going defenseless in the tiger’s lair.

I stepped inside. The floor was some sort of expensive wood, smooth underfoot, dark and inviting. The furniture was a mix of contemporary and comfortable. There was a sandstone fireplace with gas logs, and as I watched John pushed a button and the flames leaped up.

“I can do better than that,” I said.

“I don’t want to risk you blowing the place up,” John said. “Your powers can be ... unpredictable.”

“Thanks for noticing.” I paced over to the windows. the city outside was shrouded in a veil of falling snow. The storm was getting worse; I could feel the power flickering against the glass like a wolf waiting to be let inside. I shivered.

“Still cold?”

“No.”

“Here.” He held out a glass of rich-smelling bourbon. He shrugged out of his greatcoat. Underneath it, he wore a suit that cost more than my entire wardrobe -- hell, my entire apartment, basement aside. “Excuse me.” He left me watching the snow outside. With no visual reference point as high up as we were, the view of the wind-driven flakes made me feel dizzy

When Marcone returned, he wore simple Levis and a moss green turtleneck the color of his eyes.When I had started noticing his eyes? The first time we met, the first time I soulgazed into his. Maybe forever. He stood next to me, trailed his fingers across the glass, as gentle as tears. Possessive. For an insane moment, I wondered what those fingers would feel like on my skin ... I shivered again.

“Oh, for God’s sake, Harry. Go sit by the fire and warm up.”

Cold wasn’t the problem, but I sat on a a ridiculously comfortable couch by the fire and drank my bourbon slowly. The elevator gave a soft chime and the doors opened. Hendricks and a man wearing chef’s whites wheeled a cart inside. Delicious aromas wafted from the covered plates, and I immediately began salivating like Mouse being offered a particularly toothsome snack.

The dining room area was too large to be called intimate. The lights weren’t dim enough to raise any eyebrows. We were just two guys, occasional business associates, sitting down to a nice dinner. _You just keep telling yourself that, Harry._

We had ribeye steaks, big enough for Mouse, roasted vegetables and potatoes, freshly baked rolls, and by the stars and stones, apple pie and ice cream for dessert. I didn’t say much, just ate and ate until my stomach was a happy weight in my abdomen.

“Better?” Marcone asked.

“God, yes.” I stretched, feeling all the bruised muscles in my back protest.

We got up from the table. I went back to the fire, he went over to a antique cabinet and poured a snifter of brandy. “Here, this should take care of the last of the cold.”

I lifted a brow. “You’re not drinking,” I observed.

He shook his head. “No. I haven’t since ... since I was away.”

“Speaking of which ... a lost month?”

He didn’t quite meet my gaze, just a touch brief enough to allow me to see that he was being truthful. He usually was. He had never lied to me. “I’m not in a position to allow vulnerabilities,” he said softly. “I have to be sure that I can walk into a situation and be clear. I have to be able to dispel any unsavory rumors regarding any personal habits I may have acquired.”

“You had to prove you weren’t a junkie,” I said. “So how was rehab?”

He smiled slightly. “Austere. And unnecessary. Thank you.”

“I only countered what I could. You did the rest yourself.”

John looked annoyed. “Will you just let me say ‘thank you,’ and accept my gratitude graciously, Harry?”

“Don’t call ... umm ...” I started to say something, but my words ended up being muffled by his mouth. If he was looking for an effective way to shut me up, he had found one. “Mmm ...” I said, and then gave up and kissed him back.

As kisses go, it was pretty damn amazing. Lips were lips, a talented tongue was a marvel, and the slight burn of his stubble was as incendiary as a match drawn across a strike-plate. He wasn’t as tall as I am, but he was muscular, forceful, and had the element of surprise working for him. Not that I was exactly fighting him. My brain had stopped working, but the rest of my body was buzzing with power and arousal.

John was backing me towards the sofa and when my knees hit the cushions, I folded like a piece of origami. He stretched over me, compact and hard. He broke off for a breath and I managed to wheeze, “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Has it been that long, wizard?” His brow slanted up.

I wanted to make a snarky comeback, I really did, but he was working on the buttons of my shirt and the brush of those warm fingers on my skin was sending amazing shocks of heat skidding along my nerves.

“I could turn you into something ... unnatural,” I gasped. His lips moved up the plane of my cheek, across my forehead and eyelids.

“And miss all the fun?” He whispered. His tongue traced my ears and my whole body sprang to attention. No use lying; his hand on my erection knew the truth. God, he was annoying.

Fun? In a dangerous ‘what can we get away with’ sort of way, yeah. I twisted my body until we were side by side on that wide and comfortable sofa, our legs tangled. We were kissing like teenagers, sloppy and frantic, hands everywhere, panting and rough and none of it was enough. John released the snap on my jeans, tugged the zipper down.

My eyes flew open as he palmed me; the intimacy of skin on skin was a shock. “Wait,” I managed to gasp.

“What?” John’s eyes were dilated like I was his drug of choice. “Harry, this is _so_ not the time to turn into a blushing maiden.” But he drew back.

I almost laughed. No wonder they called him ‘Gentleman’. My hands were big, long-fingered, deft. I flicked the snap on his jeans, returned the touch, felt wetness on my fingers and slicked them, sliding to his balls. I could feel the arch of his back, the ripple of muscle and bones. He used to have the sleekness of a man who spent time at the gym, now he had the taut, honed body of a warrior. So, not just rehab, I thought.

I shoved his jeans down his hips, raised mine so he could do the same. He slid down, lips soft and stubble rough on my skin. And then he took me in his mouth. Heat flashed through me, power crackling around us like a nimbus. He must have felt something; he moved back up to kiss me. Our tastes mingled, intoxicating.

I smeared his come across his lips and returned the taste to him as I rucked his sweater up. He pulled it over his head and dropped it to the floor. His summer tan had faded and his skin was pale satin over those warrior muscles. Scars marred that skin; old bullet wounds, a nasty knife slash across his abdomen. He wasn’t perfect, but neither was I. His eyes, looking into mine, were reflecting dangerous glints of firelight.

He slid my shirt off my shoulders. I let it fall over his sweater and he moved beneath me, buried his fingers in my hair. They were warm on the back of my scalp, strong and hard, but at the same time, gentle. I kissed the scars on his chest, tugged at a nipple with my teeth and felt him quiver like a bowstring drawn tight. I licked come from his cock and he moaned, soft and needy.

“What do you want?” I asked, my voice rough and low, a surprise to me.

“You. Naked.”

I wanted the same thing. Boots, jeans, socks, all off and then nothing but his smooth, hot skin against mine. Nothing to hinder the power I felt weaving around us. John moved; the center of power shifted and intensified. His hands girdled my hips, thumbs pressing into the creases. “Move,” he whispered. And his mouth came down on mine.

“Mmm,” I said, and decided arguing was out of the question right now. I moved. Our bodies rocked into each other; sexes trapped and rubbing, come slicking our skin. Power coiled in my belly; low, hot and dangerous.

Above me, John’s face was fierce. “Let go,” he said. His hips thrust hard, raking my cock.

The power flowed around us. I closed my eyes, saw it beating with my pulse. “Let go,” John repeated with raw need. “You can’t hurt me.” His fingers twisted in my hair, close to pain but without cruelty.

I let go. It was like making love in a thunderstorm. Dangerous, frightening, totally exhilarating. The spurt of his semen mingled with mine; slick and hot as we climaxed. The lightning beating in me stopped strobing and settled. John was breathing quickly, panting against my throat. I traced down his spine, and he arched like a cat, almost purring as his breathing slowed and steadied.

“Don’t say anything,” I said. “You’ll spoil the moment.”

He laughed. “I think you just did. Damn, Harry. What the hell was that?”

I felt a smug satisfaction that he had felt it, too. “Wizard Sex.”

“Right.” He kissed the cap of my shoulder and sat up. He uncoiled himself and walked over to the window. Lightning flickered around the clouds, highlighting his naked body. “Thunder snow,” he said. “It’s a hell of a night.”

I shivered. “I should go.”

“You should stay. It’s too dangerous. I don’t want my people out in this. I don’t want _you_ out in this.”

I joined him at the widow. Even if we hadn’t been so high up, nobody could see into the penthouse. I could barely see the faint glimmer of lights along the Mile. “I see what you mean.” I draped an arm around John’s shoulders.

“You’re cold, Harry.”

“Yeah.”

“Hot shower?”

“Definitely.”

“You’re too easy,” he said.

“Try me.”

He did and I let him.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^

Later, warm under the covers of his big bed, our bodies sated and wrapped around each other, I still didn’t know what had shifted, changed. We had been antagonists, near-enemies, reluctant allies. But from that first soulgaze, we had been heading toward this. Inevitable as a lodestone draws a compass to true north.

“John, what about Hendricks?” I asked.

His hand drifted across my chest. “You worry too much,” he whispered, drowsy against my neck. “Go to sleep. Be warm.”

Maybe I did worry too much. I closed my eyes and wove a slight warding spell around us. Just a precaution, a protection. And then I fell asleep.

 **  
_The End_   
**


End file.
